Spirit Lynx
by the witch cat warg
Summary: Ithilia is the daughter of Denethor. After her mother's death, her father changed her name to Cassandra, but she won't answer to it. This story starts when she is nine and carries on until she is thirteen. Faramir is a year older than Ithilia and Boromir is five years older than Faramir. NO ROMANCE! Rated T for drinking. Most chapters K to K plus.
1. Prologue: To the Moon

DISCLAIMER: I don't own LOTR; the credit goes to Tolkien. Ithilia is my invention.

Spirit Lynx

Prologue

Ithilia stretched luxuriously. It was midnight, her favorite time of day in Minas Tirth (or as she thought of it, "Minus Turf and Just Cold Stone.") She smiled at the wall of cloud which occasionally showed a flash of lightning. It was so nice to be alone, so nice not to be yelled at. Then, in the middle of her private peace time came a noise: a warg's howl. The soft tenor of a pack enjoying its warm den and full stomach.

Ithilia threw back her head and sang with them, her music the lonely soprano of a lone wolf looking for a pack. The other wolves' howls deepened into the base of thoughtful happiness, and then rose back to the tenor of greeting. Ithilia also sang a greeting, feeling triumphant, her happiness soaring along the pure notes she was weaving into the night air.

"CASSANDRA!"

Ithilia whirled around. Framed in the doorway was Denethor the Steward. His face was a blotchy red color like he had been running. "WHAT WERE YOU DOING?" he roared.

Two night-clothed figures appeared behind him, Faramir looking pitying, Boromir looking smug.

Ithilia raised her chin. "I was but singing, Father," she replied.

Faramir made desparate motions for her to shut up now before things got worse. She ignored him.

"Singing? You were HOWLING!"roared Denethor. His hands were stiff and punctuating his each word with a jabbing motion.

"So?" Ithilia demanded cooly. "In some actually civilized cultures such as a warg pack, 'howling' is considered an art."

Faramir closed his eyes in horror. Even Boromir looked shocked at her daring.

Denethor's face whitened. "How DARE YOU?" he roared. He strode across the room, grabbed Ithilia by the collar and threw her at the bed.

She twisted in mid-flight and landed with a clatter on the dresser top. Denethor stared at her for a moment and stormed from the room. Her brothers goggled at her. Ithilia raised an eyebrow at them. Her "cat-like" ability as Faramir called it was old news; the same went for the outcome of her rows with Denethor. "Well, aren't you going to sleep tonight?" she asked.

"Um ... Ilith," Faramir said nervously.

"What?" she asked.

"Your eyes ... they aren't gray anymore ... at least not totally. Um ... well, they have flecked green."


	2. Of Birthday Parties

Spirit Lynx

by the Witch Cat Warg

01 Of Birthday Parties

Ithilia scowled at her reflection. _What was wrong with her?_ All right, her hair did poke out a bit, but she could just braid it later. And what in the name of Morgroth was wrong with tanned skin? A pair of now totally emerald eyes glinted out at her from the mirror; Ithilia grinned at the thought of the previous night, when not being able to sleep, she had rigged a basket of red dye over Boromir's door. It would serve him right for not permitting her to read in Elvish.

"My lady," snapped her lady's maid from behind her. "I simply insist on bleaching cream; you look like a farm girl."

"Umm," replied Ithilia, dreamily.

The maid threw up her hands. "It's your older brother's thirteenth birthday," she cried. "And Lord Faramir does not want a field girl attending his party."

Ithilia smirked when she thought of the present she had won for him. Her gaze went to an aerated basket where the present was being stored. And her smiled widened as footsteps arrived outside the door.

A messenger poked his head inside the door. "Lady Cassandra is called for in the Party Room."

Thirty minutes later, her smile quite gone, Ithilia clutched her basket to her chest as she stormed, or rather limped, to the party room. She careered into someone dressed in fancy robes, and she slipped, fell, and glared at the ceiling, muttering curse words in three different languages. (Sindirian, Common Talk and Old Rohan Talk, with the occasional Orcish curse thrown in.) Someone helped her to her feet.

Her face lit up; it was Prince Imrahil.

"You owe me eight silvers, two bronzes, and one and three sixteenths coppers," she declared.

His mouth opened in protest. "That poker game was four years ago," he complained.

Ithilia whipped out an "IOU" on tattered parchment.

Imrahil groaned and handed over his money pouch, and she counted out the money, while grumbling that he didn't have enough sixteenths for her, and that she needed to find a grown-up to cut the coppers, and grown-ups were nosy.

Imrahil grumbled that she was too quick to hold on to her own.

As they entered the party room, an usher pointed towards a list of entertainments. They walked over to it.

9:00 – 10:00: Breakfast in the Party Room

10:00 – 10:30: Ceremonial Party in the Steward's Hall

10:30 – 1:00: High Lunch on Floating Barge

1:00 – 2:00: Horse Riding at Shore Crest Arena Fields

2:00 – 3:30: High Tea in the Durage

4:15 – 12:00: Grand Ball in Old Hall Ball Room

Ithilia gaped at the list in horror. "The entire day ..." Ithilia whispered faintly.

"Grim, isn't it?" whispered a voice behind her.

She turned to see Faramir hiding behind a gigantic tray of pastry bonbons.

"You've got fifteen minutes to give me your presents before the horde arrives," he whispered. "But I'm opening Imrahil's first, Ithy."

After thanking Imrahil for a bejeweled dagger, Faramir opened Ithilia's, letting out a shriek. Inside were two tiny kittens. One was white and the other black. "Thank you, Ithilia, thank you," cried Faramir.

While Faramir cooed over the kiittens, Ithilia slid her hands into the cream pastry display. Her skirt swished as she committed the theft, but the soft noise of swishing fabric continued on after she had stopped moving. She turned around to see a pale lady gliding towards them like a snake.

Ithilia vanished into the depths of the room, surreptitiously snatching a second handful of pastries as she passed the buffet, leaving Faramir and Imrahil to their doom.

Well, thought Ithilia, justifying her actions, there were some things she couldn't do and talking to Princesses and Ladies was one of them. And Faramir had better understand that.

Two hours later, having escaped from the breakfast and ceremonial parties, she slipped from the hall, across the gardens, to where the floating barge was launched. Boromir would be watching her, and so she wouldn't be able to jump in the water if it got too hot. Scowling, Ithilia straightened her straw hat and sashayed on to the barge. She immediately started to look for Faramir who was sitting at a small table. Ithilia slid in beside him and Faramir poured her some white wine. As she sampled it, Ithilia noticed a lady kissing her Raf Raf (a raf raf being a small, long-haired dog, adorned with a bow or two and a high, yapping bark.) Ithilia rolled her eyes and took a grape. It was going to be a long meal.

With a groan, Ithilia squirmed into her fancy riding dress. The horse she'd been assigned to was old and doddery. Ithilia sighed as she watched the stable boys saddling it. This wouldn't work. This wouldn't work at all. Ten minutes later, Ithilia was galloping toward the middle challenge horse jump, the old horse going surprisingly well. In a clatter of hooves, she swerved over the jump and landed in a long skid of mud and grass. Humm, thought Ilithia, that would need perfecting. So she did just that until at least 1:50 pm (with several skids, bumps, and pile ups). Then, when it was almost time to leave, she clicked her tongue and charged the largest challenge jump. With a clatter of hooves on flintstone, a strange thing happened to the horse. Without prompting or spoken commands, she gathered speed and soared over the jump, landing perfectly on the grass and slowing her canter to a soft tranco. While Ithilia marveled over this, a groom ran over and took her horse. Ithilia skipped away, singing the song Imladris.

_"Ndu aul i' tum manke i' neldor ala, ndu aul i' tum faer i' duin desha n'taurn_

_ "arta faer iva sir faer neh iaur quin cair_

_ "Tanya dan ossa ndu aul i' tum n'aer draug quin coo_

_ "Ndu aul i' tum manke valin na"_

As she sung the last line, Faramir slid beside her without looking at her and slipped a key into her hand. Ithilia smiled at the key. It was the key to the Treasury.

Fifteen minutes later, Ithilia was bouncing up and down in an armchair in her room, shrieking, "Throw it away, you fool! Throw it in to the crack of Doom!" while Faramir read about Isuldur and his 'Ring.' "Anything made by Sauron is evil, you stupid king."

Faramir sighed. "Ithilia ..."

"Yes, yes, I know, Faramir," Ithilia said impatiently. "I should keep quiet so Boromir doesn't come charging down on us. Now _CARRY ON!"_

But Faramir had hardly read two more words when a kitchen maid, Sary, put her head around the door of Ithilia's room. "Mistress Ethlea," she said, "Yourn brothah tis lookin for yeh and yon other brothah. E says it be time for the ball in coursey o Faramir."

"All right," Ithilia smiled. "I'm coming, Sary."

Faramir scrambled to his feet. "Must be off," he told the two girls. "See you at the ball, Ithil." He ducked around Sary and hurried away to get dressed.

Sary grinned at Ithilia. "Der ya wannant me ta helt ya get drissed de-ah?"Sary asked

A wicked smile crossed Ithilia's too sharp features. "I cannae say why naught," she replied, letting her voice sink into Sary's thick accent..

One hundred eighty seven point three seconds later, Ithilia limped toward the big ball room. She squeezed between two ushers and into the darkest corner of the hall, where she began to eat a piece of pork and apple pie.

When two sets of hands dropped on her shoulders, she turned to see Imrahil and Faramir, who both said together, "You want to slip out off to a tavern somewhere?"

Ithilia smiled evilly. "I know just the place," she replied.

[NOTES TO READERS: (And a big thank you to Wolf of Rohan, Leala and others for reviewing. If gambling and drinking bothers you, skip the next chapter, but be warned you will miss some good drinking songs. Updates on Sundays or before. I would like some ideas for the tavern name. If you have been wondering, Ithilia is one year younger than Faramir. WCW.

English translation of Imladris:

Down in the valley where the pine trees grow,  
Down in the valley with the river so low,  
Tinkling onward in an evergreen flow.  
Undisturbed by bridge or boat,  
That glittering, shimmering, mirroring moat;  
Down in the valley without wolf or hound,  
Down in the valley where freedom is found. ]


	3. Of Taverns

Witch Cat Warg

Spirit Lynx

With a sigh, Ithilia watched the rain fall double in its attack on the city.

"DDDo yyou ththink we should rrring the doorbell again?" chattered Faramir, who was shivering like his bones had turned to ice.

"Nope," Ithilia replied. "Old Yobber the doorman is quite fussy about double ringing."

At that moment, the tavern door swung open. "Otch, may I be blessed, it is that youngall Ithilia with the changing eyes," mumbled a stooped up old man with wispy gray hair. "C'min, c'min. I been 'specting you."

"Let's get into the warm," Ithilia replied. "C'mon, Faramir, Imrahil."

"He might be the Captain of the guards, but he still gets DRUNK!" Bang! as everyone hit their ale mugs on the table, which would have shaken the window panes if they had existed. As it was, the large oak window shutters rattled as the tavern continued to roar the very traditional old song:

"For he likes his ale in a pail, for

"He likes his wine freshly brined,

"And he always drinks it from the cask

"If he removes his highwayman mask, for ...

"HE MIGHT BE THE CAPTAIN OF THE GUARDS,

"BUT HE STILL GETS DRUNK." Boom, crack, thunk.

Snorting with laughter, Ithilia put her third coin on the table. "Hold," she announced. as she schooled her features into a slightly panic-stricken expression.

The man across from her smirked, but Ithilia thought he wouldn't be smirking if he could see how many aces she had in her right hand. She heard Faramir sigh. He had seen this all before.

Five minutes later a stunned guardsman gazed at Ithilia's money pile and then back to his own empty ale mug where he'd kept his money.

"It seems I win," Ithilia announced.

"You must have cheated," the guardsman said in disbelief.

"I assure you ..." began Faramir, but a horn call interrupted his words. _Dooom dooom dooom dooom dooom dooom dooom dooom. _

"Eight horn calls!" Ithilia cried. "The city is under attack!"

The door to the tavern burst open, and a guardsman entered. "Spirit lynx on the loose!" he yelled. "Reported in the Citadel Gardens."

"Oh, no!" cried Faramir. "Cream and Blackspot."

"What?" Ithilia wondered if he'd turned crazy. "Who?"

"The kittens you gave me," Faramir wailed. "I left them in the Citadel Gardens!"

"Creeeeam, Blaaakspot!" Ithilia called. At least it had stopped raining. The ray of a lantern fell on a dark shadow. They both jumped.

"I see Cream," whispered Faramir. She was tight-ropewalking along a wire. She looked like a pale ghost framed in darkness. "Come here, Cream. Cream! Come down Cream! Go fetch her, Ithilia."

Ithilia scrambled up onto a wobbly garden bench and stretched her hands to the kitten. Cream jumped on to her, while Ithilia and the bench teetered.

Ithilia jumped off quickly before it gave way. They heard a desperate mewling from the direction of the closed gate. Faramir ran towards the sound, the gate slamming behind him.

Ithilia glanced around, tucked Cream onto her shoulder, and then plunged after him. She saw her brother standing before a small pond. There was a tree in the middle, and that was where the mewling came form. Suddenly, Ithilia felt a shiver go down her back. She turned around and saw eyes. Gleaming, emerald eyes. Ithilia screamed so loudly that Cream almost fell off her shoulder.

"What?" said Faramir, turning. "Ahhh ... Ithilia, get into the water!"

They swam towards the islet and scrambled up the tall tree., getting many cuts and splinters along the way. Blackspot was stuck at the top. The pitch black lynx prowled around the edge; it was so dark it looked like a shadow rather than a real form. It was so close, they could see its tufted ears. It let out a piercing scream, and the kittens mewed desperately.

"Climb higher, Ithilia!" whispered Faramir.

"I'm trying," Ithilia hissed back. The lynx screamed again.

"I hear it," yelled a guard in the distance.

With a hiss, the cat took one last look at them and disappeared into the shadows.

"Phew," said Faramir. They began to slither down the tree, quickly so the guard wouldn't find them.

Ithilia said, "Well, I'm glad the beast is gone. Hope the partyers haven't noticed our absence. Come on, let's leave before it smells us and comes back."

"Let's kill it," said Faramir. "Then it won't be able to hurt or kill anyone."

"Thumbs to heart?" asked Ithilia.

Faramir nodded. "Yes."

They pointed their thumbs at their hearts and said together, "We vow by the fair ones to kill the rough beast before it kills anyone else."

The sound of running footsteps reached their ears. They glanced at each other.

_"Improvise," _mouthed Faramir.

[NOTE TO READERS: The "Thumb Vow" is something I made up. So are spirit lynxes. I will dedicate a rose to any revieweres. If you are Imrahil or Boromir fans, you shall be severely disappointed with me. I hope you don't mind the shortness of this chapter. Two really long ones coming up, I promise. WCW]


	4. Midnight Walker

Witch Cat Warg

Spirit Lynx

Midnight Walker

Crash! Clang! "Move your feet," Boromir yelled.

Ithilia sighed inwardly. Faramir was having "sword lessons" from Boromir, and that basically meant Boromir yelled at Faramir for a few hours.

"Block me! Don't back against the wall, silly. I'll crush you! Parry me!"

Wincing, Ithilia asked in a plaintive voice: "Can I have a try at sword play, Boro? I mean I never got self defense lessons. Father says I can't even think about getting them. And Faramir ..."

"No, Ithilia. Absolutely not. You should know better than that. It will only anger father, and you will gain nothing from it," Boromir replied.

"But ..." Ithilia began.

"No." Boromir slammed his sword back into its sheath and began to walk away. "No, no, no, and that is FINAL." He vanished into the shady porch that surrounded the back of the steward's family apartments.

"Beast," Ithilia muttered.

"Do you want me to teach you?" offered Faramir.

Ithilia brightened visibly. "Of course, Faramir. Why didn't we think of that before? It's a perfect solution."

"Do you want to start now?" Faramir asked.

"Yes!" Ithilia replied excitedly. "Come on, let's try it."

"Ouuuch!"

"Sorry," Ithilia yelped as her wooden "sword" smashed Faramir across the shin.

Faramir staggered and sprawled face forward in the dirt. Ithilia tripped over him and sat in a rose bush. Almost instantly, she sailed to her feet, howling in pain as the sharp thorns pricked her skin. This kind of thing had happened repeatedly while Faramir "trained her." It was now nearing supper time. The two skipped lunch at the table and asked for it outside, so they had not seen Boromir since he refused to teach Ithilia sword play; they were quite happy about that. They also were content that Imrahil had left after breakfast so they didn't have to explain why they had (as Boromir so graciously put it) "left him in a tavern, tipsy, lost and in trouble, while they ran around the gardens because they needed 'air.'"

Imrahil had not been amused when they vanished and had told Boromir who threatened to tell Denethor unless they behaved themselves all week. Of course this meant no sword play without Boromir watching, and no killing spirit lynxes by night fall, which was exactly what they planned to do.

"You know," Ithilia said thoughtfully, "If we are going to kill the beast, we might as well start now."

"What do you mean?" asked Faramir.

Ithilia made her features go solemn:

_"When the dark creeps in on little cat's paws_

_ "The great cat's sure to follow,_

_ "With gaping maws,_

_ "And killer claws,_

_ "The Great Cats go hunting."_

Faramir groaned. "Ithili – _AH_, there is no need to give me an Old Law rhyme. I know that the Spirit Lynxes hunt at night time, but it's barely dark out.

"It's dark enough," Ithilia stated solemnly.

The two of them crept past a lighted window and then scrambled to the marble steps.

"It should come up this way,"Faramir whispered softly.

"Why?" Ithilia asked in confusion. There were plenty of other more secret ways to get into the garden.

"Because," Faramir answered, "we saw the cat yesterday coming through the undergrowth, and they posted guards all around the gap it came through, and the cat won't risk being seen by humans."

"Ahh, I see," Ithilia murmured.

The simple fact that the cat would try to avoid the gardens after it had been discovered there

didn't cross their minds.

"Here should be a good place to hide," Ithilia announced, gesturing to the thick bushes besides the steps. "Come on, let's get weapons."

"Like what?" Faramir asked.

"Swords," Ithilia replied.

"Yes," Faramir said. "Of course, but ..."

Ithilia fixed him with a cool stare. "Yes?"

Faramir decided not to point out that both their swordsmanship lacked accomplishment. "Nothing," he sighed.

"Come on, then," Ithilia grinned. "I know where the swords are kept."

"Where?" Faramir asked suspiciously.

"In the old shed," Ithilia said, rolling her eyes. "Really Faramir, you're so condasing, whatever that means."

"Conda_SCEND_ing," Faramir muttered.

Ithilia ignored him. "Come on, let's slip through the black gate, you know the one that was damaged by the earthquake last summer."

Creeeeeek. The shed door seemed to make an unreasonable amount of noise when pushed open. Faramir walked over to a row of engraved swords.

"No, no," Ithilia said sadly. "We can't have those; they are owned by the 'Lords of Gondor.'"

"Oh, well." Faramir flicked the thought away like a bothersome fly. "And they're probably too heavy for us anyway with all those jewels." Faramir chose a plain sword in a dark brown sheath, and Ithilia rooted around behind some old and rusty brown swords and found an old sword/knife cross with a dull gray sheath of cracked leather. They left and closed the annoyingly spooky door behind them. Ithilia strapped her weapon to her hip.

"Hurry up, Som," Faramir whispered as she slid the blade from the sheath.

"Coming, and what does "Som" mean?" she asked.

"It stands for 'Sister of Mine.'"

"I see. Does that mean you are my 'Bom?'" Ithilia queried.

"I suppose," Faramir replied. He twiddled with the gate latch before deciding to leave it shut and just climb it. After a few scrapes and bruises involving an overlarge sword caught in the fence, and Faramir hanging by said sword until Ithilia vaulted over the gate and landed on top of him. The rest of the walk went by quite swiftly because they ran the gaps of light underneath the windows, fearing someone might look out and see them if they tarried at these spots. Ithilia arrived first at the front step, because Faramir paused briefly beneath the willow tree to unsheath his sword); the two squeezed into the bushes on either side of the steps and waited.

They did not have to wait long. With the soft padding of paws and the swish of a long black tail, the lynx slipped past them and would have passed on unseen if it weren't for its long tail brushing Ithilia's knee.

Instantly, she felt its extreme youth and ancient age squeezed into one body. Also she felt it foggy spell of silence. As soon as she felt it, the silence broke and the cat sprang away from her, hissing madly.

Faramir and Ithilia sprang to their feet, slashing blindly at the cat. Ithilia's blade, by chance, hit the cat in the shoulder. Screaming like it had a hidden banshee in its soul and snarling like a warg, it sprang at her and slashed her face open with one gigantic paw before screaming in pain. Faramir grabbed its long black tail and swung his sword. The cat howled and fled, minus its tail. Faramir hurled the tail into the underbrush, grabbed his sister off the ground, and pulled her behind the tall building. This succeeded to get her out of the stunned state she had been in or maybe it was the sound of footsteps.

"Come on," she whispered and plucked at Faramir's hand to make him follow her. "I know a way in."

The two siblings sat in Ithilia's bedroom. Screeech. Ithilia's vanity set that she absolutely loathed spun around to reveal her most complicated project: she had turned a normal vanity set into a revolving one with a hidden medicine cabinet on the other size. Faramir selected a sterilized needle and the healing herbs.

"Forget those," Ithilia said. "Get the kingsfoil in my window box.

Faramir stared at her leafy mess that almost obscured her window. "Which is kingsfoil?" he asked doubtfully. It looked a bit tangled.

"All of it," Ithilia replied. "Now boil it in water. . . "

"... Hum. Well, on the bright side, father won't be able to marry me off now." Ithilia scrutinized her face in the mirror. Three long lines of black stitching crossed her face like inked on marks. She tilted her head a little, admiring the effect of her green eyes clashing with the dark of the stitching.

Then Faramir whispered to her, "Come look at this!"

Under her window prowled the beast. The slash on its shoulder glowed red and its tail ... its tail had grown back.

[Note to Readers: Thank you Lord of the Lake for reviewing (three times!). I experienced a writer's block (aka a holiday), so this chapter has taken a month. I hope you all liked it and that I didn't give you too much of a cliff hanger. The next chapter will be the last. WCW]


	5. Stolen Spirit

Stolen Spirit

Ithilia walked down the long flight of stairs, clad in her nightgown and a thick woolen scarf to hide her marked face. She halted next to a window that looked down on the garden and looked at the ivy that completely covered the wall. She grinned. There was a rush of morning air as she vaulted over the window sill.

Faramir stood beside the marble steps. He waited for Ithilia who was starting to worry him. Faramir considered going to look for her when a snarling came from the bushes behind him. Two emerald eyes glowed in the torch light. Faramir turned to run when this thought struck him: the "cat's eyes" had round pupils. He whirled around again in time to see Ithilia scrambling out of the bush. He glared at her.

"That was not funny, Ithilia. Not funny at all."

She smirked at him but didn't answer. She looked at the huge paw prints that covered the blood-stained steps. "Found anything?" she asked.

Faramir hesitated, wondering whether or not to reply, to withhold information until she repented, or to relent and tell her what he'd found. He decided against withholding information because she knew how to hold a grudge and her temper had been know to vanish and reappear like a striking snake.

"Ithilia, d'you remember last night when we saw the Spirit Lynx with its regrown tail? I've been reading up on them, and I read that Spirit Lynx are known to return to a battle ground to collect up severed body parts and rejoin them. When I came here this morning, there was no tail."

Ithilia digested the information, her mouth to one side. "Well," she said thoughtfully. "I hope we can think of a way. We will have to be sly this time."

"A way to do what?" Faramir asked.

The two began to walk up to the garden gate.

"Kill it," Ithilia replied as she rearranged her scarf with a tweak to the thick wool. Faramir stopped beside a bush covered in red berries. Ithilia stopped, too, glaring at him. "You can't back out, Faramir, you made a vow."

Faramir stared at the berry-covered bush. He knew she was right, but suddenly he had a very, very bad feeling about killing a self-healing Lynx that could slay a man with one well-placed snap of its gigantic fangs.

He reached out and grabbed a handful of berries, crushing them in his hand. They extruded a thick yellow pulp in his hand.

Ithilia yelped in horror. "Faramir, drop those now!"

"What?" Faramir said, staring at her. She looked very alarmed. "Why?"

"They're Witch Berries, and, as you should very well know, those berries carry a toxin that can be lethal to to most people, and it can transmit through the skin."

Faramir was already flinging the berries away. On his had was a swollen, blistery mark.

"Oh great. I hoped like me you'd be immune." Ithilia grumbled. "Come on, quickly. I've got the antidote in my room."

The two siblings hurried through the still silent house, taking several side passages to keep themselves away from Denethor's sleeping chambers, or, as Ithilia had rechristened them, "Father's Brooding Halls" because every time he lost his temper he would go there and lock the door. Periodically a strange light in the tower would be seen, and Ithilia would have a raging row with him about how he was ruining the city, the world, and the three of them by doing things "the easy way" rather than the "harder natural way."

Faramir sighed. These battles usually ended in Ithilia getting slapped and sent to her room, where she never stayed. Indeed, she often wasn't seen for days or weeks at a time after these incidents, always reappearing healthy, happy and with her eyes an extra green color until Denethor disappeared again to his chambers which would start another argument. Indeed, a few days before his birthday (had it really been only a week ago?) Ithilia had stormed away from Denethor shrieking that he was a nasty orc while Boromir glared at Denethor and stalked off to_ his_ room. Ithilia had only arrived just in time for his birthday with tanned skin and her hair an utter bird's nest, much to her maid's horror. According to Boromir, he had been in an argument (or as he put it an "abrupt conversation") about sword fighting with Denethor, and Ithilia had jumped to the chance to snarl at Denethor. The two were utterly at odds with one another.

The door of Ithilia's bedroom swung open and Ithilia spun her revolving drawer around and picked up a huge jar of clear liquid. "Here. Drink it," she said with an icy ring to her tone.

Faramir gulped down a few mouthfuls of it and put it down. Then he saw something engraved on the side of the pot was one word: POISON. "Ahhrg!" he shouted. "Ithilia, I'm sorry I implied I wouldn't kill it, but don't kill me!"

Ithilia yelped when she saw the word on the side of the pot. "Whoops! Sorry, I forgot I swapped pots. She scrambled onto a footstool and grabbed a small bottle labeled "ALL CURE ANTIDOTE (witch berries, normal poisons, etc.)." She handed it to him, and he gulped it down while Ithilia grinned at him.

He glared at her and said, "Well Miss Lynxcrusher, have you thought of a plan to kill the beast?"

"Yes," Ithilia replied.

"What?" said Faramir in surprise. He hadn't expected that, Ithilia thought smugly.

"Oh yes, I have," she said with a slight smirk. "We hide in the bushes beside the steps, but this time we will cover ourselves in herbs so it can't smell us, then we put our lure out, a hunk of meat poisoned with Witch Berries. Then, when it has eaten the meat, we spring from the bushes and cut open its stomach, thus letting the magical feline's self-healing power out of it and letting the poison do its work."

She beamed at Faramir, who said nothing. He could see several flaws, big enough to ride a horse through.

"Well?" Ithilia asked, her eyes widening with impatience.

He decided to risk it. "Ithilia, that won't work."

"Why?" she demanded.

Faramir sighed. "One, we don't have any meat, two, the monster can smell us through the herbs, and three, I don't think the self-healing powers can be 'cut out' of the lynx."

Ithilia raised a triumphant finger. "Ah ha! One, we can steal meat from the cellar, two, the herbs I plan to use _will_ camouflage us and, three, the self-healing powers will be drained from the cut, not 'cut out.'" With that, Ithilia spun her vanity set around and turned to him. "You'd better mix the herbs. You'll need wild mountain thyme, kingsfoil, the leaf of the golden rose, and rosemary, the strongest rosemary. I've got it all labeled so all you have to do is boil them up. I'll go get the meat." With that, Ithilia twirled out of the room.

Scowling, Faramir turned to the vanity set/herb closet and selected ROSEMARY (strongest) and WILD MOUNTAIN THYME (best), and GOLD ROSE (leaves and stalks). He emptied all these into a small pot on the third shelf and plucked five kingsfoil leaves out of the window box and added these too. Then he collected some water out of the window bucket, poured this in the pot, and put it on the coals of the dying fire and grabbed a wooden spoon he had once carved for Ithilia, and used it to stir the pot.

While Faramir stirred the pot, Ithilia tiptoed toward the servants' rooms, passing through the palace and the kitchens like a winged spirit until she came to the butler's room. She slid through the door and stopped to look around: the butler was asleep in a black bed with moldy hangings, but where were his keys? Ahh, she snatched them up and scrambled out of the room as if it were on fire and turned to the door of the meat cellars. She paused as she selected the correct key, unlocked it, and stole inside. Now she faced a dilemma. She didn't know which kind of meat tasted most like human. A vision of the butler sprawled on his sleeping cot snoring loudly enough to wake a drunken goblin came to her. Grinning, Ithilia selected a leg of pork and scrambled up the steps and out the door.

The two of them walked down the garden path. Dawn was soon to come, and they had to hurry. In Ithilia's arms, there was an enormous pig's leg, and their swords, while Faramir lugged a cauldron. They reached the front steps and put Ithilia's plan into action. Step One: pour the cauldron contents on themselves and rub it into their hair. This turned them a mottled green which, as Ithilia pointed out, made perfect camouflage. Step Two: Pound the Witch Berries into the meat. Ithilia did that because she didn't react to the poison. Step Three: Hide in the undergrowth until the lynx came. Step Four: Cut open its stomach and run to the sword shed and hide there until the lynx died. Come out and clean up, and then go get some sleep.

This is what happened.

The spirit lynx slithered up the steps and bent to tear strips from the meat. Its bones were showing; obviously self-healing was hungry work. Without a war cry, Faramir and Ithilia sprung from the bushes, swinging their swords madly. Snarling, the cat sprung at Faramir, sinking its long fangs into his ankle, but in that jump, its stomach was cut open, as Faramir's sword swung down. The cat yowled, staggering backwards, its stomach leaking red metallic liquid.

The cat began to shake as the molten metal that had protected it from poison poured out of it. As the poison overcame it, she collapsed to the ground, raising her head to hiss at the humans who had tricked her. As the metal slid from her body, it made a shape, the shape of an enormous lynx. The thing sprang away as she lay on the ground, free of the spirit that possessed her, she felt herself shrinking into the witless kitten she had been, when the ancient spirit fled the body it had cultivated.

Ithilia and Faramir stared at the tiny unblemished lynx kitten on the ground. Faramir knelt and gently picked her up. She was as black as coal with bright green eyes and tiny white fangs. She was large for a kitten, the size of a domestic cat in teenhood. The guard's yells cut through the dawn silence, and they ran toward the palace, Faramir clasping the kitten to his chest.

The five of them sat in Ithilia's room: two humans, two normal kittens and one lynx kitten. Ithilia was holding Cream, and Faramir was holding Black Spot and ... "I think she should be called Fellfair, because once she was fell and now she is fair," Faramir said. "Or should she be Metalblood because of the strange creature in her?"

"I know a name," Ithilia declared. Faramir looked at her. "Dark Spirit."

Dark Spirit yowled for more milk as the sun climbed the sky, and the world woke up to live and work, and far away, the spirit of the old lynx slunk through the forests of Mirkwood. It had gone there to fade away.

[Note to Readers: Thank you Avid Reader Sal, Lord of the Lake, Cub Driver, and Cooper in Alaska for reviewing chapter four. I hope you liked my last chapter. I am writing a stand alone sequel called "Spirit Warg." It will not be from Ithilia's point of view. It will be set in WOTR, and most of its chapters will be rated T. - WCW.]


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